


Drum Beating

by flowerdeluce



Category: Independence Day (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Magazines, Rimming, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: Arms folded across his chest, an irritated pout twisting his lips, Brackish nodded toward the magazine. “What’s that?”“A porn mag,” Milton answered plainly, standing on the other side of the table. He wasn’t entirely pleased that Brackish had gone through his things without asking and was not about to accept a grilling over what he’d discovered.“Huh.”
Relationships: Milton Isaacs/Brackish Okun
Kudos: 7
Collections: Dick or Treat - Scrohto Region, Merry Month of Masturbation 2020





	Drum Beating

**Author's Note:**

> Created as part of [Dick or Treat](https://dick-or-treat.dreamwidth.org/), a challenge where you title your smutfic with a Pokemon attack move. It's such a fun idea and open until the end of May 2020. Go check it out! Also posted to the [Merry Month of Masturbation](https://mmom.dreamwidth.org) 2020 collection, which gave me a much-needed push to actually hit post.
> 
> _Drum_ is a real vintage porn mag, so I was pleased to see a Pokemon move using that word! [This](https://66.media.tumblr.com/95caa3938c8ba5c76ba502b15a31ac05/dc2e716ec881a9be-a3/s1280x1920/f39e3d867c92a805540c2312b0e659a6cb4f124b.jpg) (NSFW-ish) is the copy Milton had, though I've changed some things.

The rules were different for medics. That’s why Private Harry Polden of 2nd Squadron asked Dr. Milton Isaacs to hold an item of contraband for him, one that would’ve meant an instant and dishonourable discharge if discovered. 

Harry and Milton had an understanding, the kind that once (or twice) had Harry bent over the good doctor’s examination table for the simple reason that one made the most of pleasure wherever one found it in the harsh, unforgiving world of the U.S. Army. That’s why Milton wasn’t surprised when Harry handed him a surprisingly pristine copy of a gay interest periodical, the enigmatically named _Drum_ magazine. And that’s why Harry trusted him to hide it for him. 

A week later, Harry relocated to a base in Philadelphia. Milton didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, but he was used to his connections being abruptly severed; he never stayed in one place long either, and if he did, the people he worked with changed with the seasons. 

Harry’s copy of _Drum_ stayed wedged behind the false back inside Milton’s personal drugs safe for over a year.

It was good practice to sterilise one’s medical equipment every once and a while. Seeing as the safe didn’t get as close to patients as its contents, it wasn’t as regularly cleaned as say, a blood pressure sleeve. Milton liked things sanitary, so it surprised him to realise he hadn’t cleaned far enough back in the safe to remember the hidden compartment until he’d relocated to Fort Irwin, California. It was nerve-wracking to realise he’d carried contraband across the base’s perimeter. Coming up with a way to dispose of it once he’d rediscovered it was even more so. 

At Irwin, Milton had his own room. It was small, cold, and separate from the barracks and medical wing, but he made it his own with a selection of potted plants and a calming, orange-hued poster of the Grand Canyon. He had a metal waste bin and a cigarette lighter, too; therefore, he had a way to dispose of the unseemly magazine. 

Pulling the rolled copy from where he’d concealed it in his sleeve—issue #13, he realised, immediately dismissing the thought that it was a bad omen—he decided it was only right to leaf through it before burning it. He’d never even opened the cover before. 

Five minutes later, Milton’s hand was down his pants, the full-colour centrefold open across his lap: a beautiful, light-haired young man stretched across hay-strewn soil between the tall green stems of a sunflower patch. His nakedness revealed every inch of his lightly tanned skin, the blissful smile on his face owed to his impressively large erection curving back against his belly. On the back of the centrefold’s second page, the man bent over on all fours, his plump behind on display for the camera beneath glorious sunshine.

Milton pursed his lips and imagined pushing the model’s gorgeous buttocks apart, revealing the hidden treasure between them. His mouth watered at the thought of sliding into that warm, supple backside, there among the flowers, the heat of the sun on his shoulders. He thought of Harry too, the way he looked with his fist jammed in his mouth while he fucked him so hard the examination table almost toppled off its legs. Flipping the page back and forth, he slid his tongue along the inner edges of his lips, losing himself in the fantasy of that stunning cock sliding into his willing mouth. 

The magazine had its uses. It helped Milton de-stress after a difficult day, dragging his mind from the grim realism of war casualties to the picturesque flower fields of its baby-faced model. After deciding not to burn it, it became Milton’s go-to outlet for frustration.

Until he lost interest. There were only so many times you could masturbate to the same handful of images. 

The magazine went back in the med safe’s hidden partition three months later, and Milton returned his focus to the more serious matters of life and death.

*

He never thought he’d get this lucky. 

In just three years, Milton had gone from Irwin’s depressing wards to a cushy facility in Nevada where nobody needed serious medical care and there was time aplenty to put the pathology half of his doctorate to good use. Not only that, he’d fallen in love with the sweetest man he’d ever met.

Brackish’s voice lifted Milton’s spirits like the clutch of a million helium balloons launching him into space. His baby blues made him feel like a schoolboy with his first crush. The way he kissed him at the end of a long day almost made him believe in soulmates. And the sex was so good he’d lost almost a stone from the exercise alone. 

A week after Brackish moved into Milton’s quarters, Milton lost his temper with him for the first time. He was just so god damned messy! He’d asked him to try to be tidier, bit his tongue when he hadn’t, cleaned up his mess when he couldn’t stand looking at it anymore, but he couldn’t keep it up. His outburst affected Brackish enough that he’d taken a day off work without telling him and cleaned his entire quarters from floor to ceiling – yes, even the ceiling – to show he was serious about adopting the ‘better habits’ Milton wanted. At some point during his spring clean, Brackish must’ve stumbled across the false back in the med safe. 

Finding the familiar copy of _Drum_ laying on the coffee table was almost as unnerving as finding his quarters polished, scrubbed and bleached by someone who wasn’t actually that good at cleaning. 

Arms folded across his chest, an irritated pout twisting his lips, Brackish nodded toward the magazine. “What’s that?” 

“A porn mag,” Milton answered plainly, standing on the other side of the table. He wasn’t entirely pleased that Brackish had gone through his things without asking and was not about to accept a grilling over what he’d discovered. 

“Huh.” Brackish nodded, still visibly troubled. “Yeah, I uh, got that.” He placed his hands on his hips as though trying to look intimidating, then dropped them quickly to his sides in a defeated slump. “Why do you have one?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” It was a good question. 

“Well…” Brackish glanced at it, then looked away sharply as if the mere sight of it had singed his retinas. “Aren’t I good enough for you? You have to resort to” —he flicked a hand toward it— “ _that_.”

The tension in Milton’s chest softened. Brackish wasn’t angry. He was upset. Jealous, even. 

“I’ve had it for years. I haven’t looked at it in years either. Almost forgot I had it.” 

Brackish peered at it again. He appeared to be reading the date on its cover. It was old when Harry had it, so it must’ve been practically vintage by now. “You’d hidden it. I assumed…” 

“I hid it before I came here. Honestly, baby. Throw it, if you want. I don’t want it anymore.” 

“So, you don’t think about this stuff when… You don’t wish I looked more like that?” He pointed at the slim, smooth-skinned cover boy, cheeks flushing. Now Milton took the time to really look, he saw Brackish’s eyelashes were wet.

“Of course not.” He came around the table, sliding a hand along Brackish’s wrist to link their fingers. “You’re a million times better than any photo in a magazine.”

“That’s not true,” Brackish said, turning and putting a hand over his eyes. Milton peeled that hand away. 

“It’s true for me.” He leant in to kiss his cheek, stroking the backs of his knuckles with his thumb. “Throw it away, okay?” 

Brackish seemed to accept that compromise. Snatching the magazine from the table, he tossed it into the empty, recently sterilised trash can. 

*

Brackish’s tongue tasted of toothpaste. After an evening spent getting to grips with their spruced up quarters – learning where Brackish had moved things during his reorganisation of the kitchen cupboards and noticing discrepancies in his alphabetization of their shared, overflowing bookcase – Milton hadn’t expected Brackish would have the energy for anything else. But Brackish’s supply of energy seemed to be an infinite, untapped resource. 

Arching up from the sheets, Brackish clung to his shoulders. “I’m curious,” he whispered, relishing in Milton’s kisses.

“About?”

“I never actually looked in it.” 

Milton scraped Brackish’s chocolatey locks back and kissed the edge of his hairline. “In what?”

“The magazine.”

A warm feeling slid down Milton’s spine. With a nibble at Brackish’s earlobe, he asked, “Do you want to?”

“Is it… graphic?”

“The insert in the middle is.” Milton’s cock filled a little more at the memory of the tanned boy, the way his long, blonde lashes fluttered in his imagination as he pushed into him. He didn’t have to imagine such things these days, but remembering old fantasies had him swallowing against Brackish’s skin. “We can look together, if you want?”

Brackish nodded frantically, spurring Milton to almost leap off the bed. Rushing through to the living room – erection tenting his pyjamas – he pulled Harry’s old contraband from the trash and brought it to the bedroom. 

Settling beside his lover, Milton leafed through for the colour pages, holding them open for Brackish to see. 

“Oh, wow,” Brackish whispered, pushing his glasses up his nose as he leant in for a closer look. He was silent for a long while, studying the picture, absentmindedly biting his lip. 

Milton wondered what he was thinking. The model wasn’t cut, so there were comparisons to be made and a curiosity for them both there. His skin was perfectly hairless, too, his only body hair a blond nest around his cock and balls. In the silent, shared moment, Milton wondered if Brackish had ever seen another man’s erect penis beside his and his own. 

When Brackish finally made comment, it was only to say, “It’s not really… what I expected.” It knocked the wind out of Milton’s sails somewhat.

“What were you thinking?”

“I dunno.” Brackish shrugged a shoulder. “Muscles?” 

Milton chuckled softly. That figured. “And more hair?”

“Yeah!” 

“I think a different kind of magazine would do it for you, baby.” Milton had seen them, on high shelves in convenience stores, low behind the counter at newspaper stands: muscular, leather-clad men posing on the covers, hair billowing from the edges of tiny briefs that barely covered anything, piercing gazes dominating even in print. 

Innocent as ever, Brackish asked, “How come?”

“This sort of thing is more my taste.”

“Why?”

Turning back to the familiar blond, Milton hoped he wouldn’t make Brackish feel inadequate with what he was about to say. “This guy’s very pretty. A total poser.” He turned the page to accentuate his point. Brackish cocked an eyebrow at the second image’s submissive position. “The kind that needs a good fuck.”

Brackish pursed his lips, cheeks flushing. His eyes remained fixed on the second image of the blond bent in the soil as he mumbled a shy, “Really?”

“He’s asking for it,” Milton continued, turning his head to whisper into Brackish’s ear. “He wants a big dick in his ass.” 

Sucking in a breath, Brackish turned the page back to the image of the man reclining. “That why you like looking at him?”

“I like looking at you,” Milton said, nosing the soft hair at Brackish’s temple. 

Voice shaky, Brackish asked, “Have you ever… touched yourself to this?” 

“Yeah.” Milton took a deep breath when he saw Brackish’s hand creep between his own thighs, rubbing his half-hard cock through his pyjama bottoms. “That doesn’t make you jealous?”

Brackish swallowed, shaking his head. “What would you do to him, if you could?”

Dropping the magazine against the sheets, Milton parted his lips against Brackish’s cheekbone and sucked the taught, pink skin. “Why don’t I show you?” 

“Show me _and_ tell me,” Brackish whispered, turning to kiss Milton with an open, inviting mouth. 

“You better recreate his pose, then.” He slid a finger into the waist of Brackish’s pyjamas. “And take all this off.” 

“…Okay.”

Brackish was moderately shy when it came to nudity. He didn’t mind it so much if he was under the covers, but most of the time, he preferred being clothed. So it was somewhat surprising that he whipped off his pyjamas and briefs in the time it took Milton to pick the magazine up and find the centrefold again. Brackish took it from him, tipping his head as he copied the model’s pose, mirroring his lounging position, his erection standing up from his belly in just the same way. 

“How’s this?” he asked, voice silky smooth.

Milton’s jaw hung open as Brackish slid the magazine back across the sheets. Back in the army, he’d never in his wildest dreams have imagined the picture he jerked off to would be recreated by his future partner. But, – and he may have been biased here – Brackish’s body was even more alluring to him right now than that photo ever had been.

“Fuck, baby. You’re gorgeous.” Leaning over him, pressing the covered length of his body to Brackish’s naked skin, he kissed him hard, the hand that wasn’t holding him up stroking Brackish’s cock. 

Brackish moaned into Milton’s mouth as his hand slid from root to tip, gently cupping his balls, softly squeezing the head. Over the last few months, Milton had learned exactly how he liked it. 

“That nice?”

“Yeah,” Brackish breathed, a shuddering whimper following the word as Milton circled his thumb over the tip, spreading the wetness that clung there. “What’re you gonna do to me? To him?”

“Pretty boys like you two only have one thing in mind,” Milton whispered, kissing down Brackish’s neck, sucking the hard edge of his collar bone. 

Brackish arched into his hand, gasping as Milton’s hot tongue flicked over his hardened nipple. “Tell me.”

“You want all the attention.” He arched his hips against Brackish’s crotch. “And this.” 

With a gentle push to Brackish’s thigh, Milton encouraged his leg back until his foot hooked over his shoulder, heel digging into his shoulder. “Good boy,” Milton whispered, gritting his teeth. He’d never said anything like that before, and it had Brackish stunned. “Now this one.”

He slid down Brackish’s front once both his legs were bent over his shoulders, mouth finding his cock as naturally as anything. Taking it in until it hit the back of his throat, he breathed deep through his nose, eyes closed as his mind flit between reality to fantasy. Brackish’s dark matt of pubic hair became the boy’s from _Drum_ , blond and wispy. The creaking mattress, soft under his knees, was the field of sunflowers, soil catching under his fingernails as he gripped the bed to steady himself. 

Brackish whined, cock throbbing between Milton’s lips, leaking against his tongue. 

“You like that?” Milton asked, using the moment his mouth left Brackish’s warm skin to suck his fingers.

When Brackish curled his toes against his back and whimpered for him not to stop, Milton eased the wet tip of his middle finger over his tight pucker as he took him into his mouth again. 

“Oh, god,” Brackish panted, hole quivering at the touch, the overstimulation. The muscle softened, allowing Milton’s slick finger inside all the way to the knuckle in one easy push. “Baby… please. That’s— oh, god!” 

Curling his finger against the swollen bump of Brackish’s prostate, Milton’s cock throbbed at the desperate sound he made, the way his body jerked. Pre-come flooded Milton’s tongue, the magazine’s sun-kissed model forgotten as he stretched out his tongue to lick Brackish’s balls. Brackish’s cock nudged the roof of his mouth, and slowly, very slowly, the head eased down his throat. Brackish, Brackish, _Brackish_. That was all he wanted. All he needed.

He added a second finger, the pair buried in Brackish’s ass as he slid his wet lips up and down his cock messily, to the background noise of Brackish’s panting. Milton felt his own cock sticking to his pyjama bottoms as he repositioned himself, a wet patch of pre-come soaking into the material.

Losing his composure, he pulled back and trailed his tongue lower, finding the place where his fingers pumped. Brackish sobbed as Milton traced his tongue around the swollen rim of his hole, withdrawing his fingers to slide his tongue inside instead. 

“Holy fuck,” Brackish gasped, trembling, digging his feet into Milton’s shoulders.

Brackish loosened beneath Milton’s persistent lapping, opening for his tongue until he could lick the velvet muscle inside. Milton’s cheeks burned hot, the bristles of his beard rubbing Brackish’s intimate skin as he devoured him, panting hot into his ass while Brackish whined like a dying animal.

Once Brackish was drenched in his saliva, as relaxed as he could possibly be, Milton slipped himself free of his pyjamas while still lapping at him, moaning into his skin at the prospect of being inside him any moment. 

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, crawling up Brackish’s body again, his limp spread thighs bending back with the movement. His cock bumped between Brackish’s legs, the burning hot tip finding the soaked flesh. Arching forwards, a groan broke from him as he slid inside, Brackish taking all of him with one slow push until Milton’s balls came flush to the crack of his ass. 

Milton kissed Brackish’s temple, breathing hard into his dark hair as he tried to hold back his orgasm. Brackish clawed at him, every breath a whimper, appearing to be in similarly desperate predicament. 

“You gonna come?” Milton whispered, sliding a hand down to grip Brackish’s slim waist.

“Wait,” Brackish breathed, barely able to get the word out.

“Wait?”

Reaching out, Brackish grabbed Milton’s backside, fingers kneading into the fleshy muscle. “Stay – still.” 

Milton closed his eyes and breathed hard through his nose, trying to stop his hips moving of their own accord. He wanted to fuck Brackish more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he also wanted to satisfy whatever curiosity had him in its clutches right now. 

Pressing weak kisses to Brackish’s open mouth, Milton worried his teeth into his lower lip. “You okay, baby?”

“Mmmm.” Brackish’s eyes rolled back. “So full,” he mouthed, totally blissed out.

Milton answered him in a whisper, kissing along Brackish’s stubbled jaw. “I couldn’t be any deeper.” 

Brackish pawed at his back pathetically. “Try,” he begged, voice strained. 

Letting his weight go, Milton sank impossibly deeper into Brackish’s tight depth and was rewarded with a long, shaky gasp right in his ear. “That nice, baby?”

Unable to make any response besides a low groan, Brackish fell limp against the sheets, giving his body to Milton to do with as he pleased. Milton rolled his hips, feeling Brackish clench around his cock. He couldn’t maintain the stillness Brackish sought so he could enjoy being full and crushed under his weight. He had to move. 

The thud of his body between Brackish’s legs almost shoved him into the headboard as he drove forward. He held his shoulders to keep him in place. As he withdrew barely an inch, Brackish whimpered, mouth stuck open and eyes glazed over with bliss. Milton rammed back inside again, the slap of his skin against Brackish’s wet backside making his hair stand on end. He gripped Brackish’s harder, holding him as he pushed in hard, pulling him down onto his cock as he helplessly writhed. 

“Shall I come in you?” Milton growled, knowing the answer would always be a resounding yes but also that Brackish liked hearing the question. He continued pounding into him as he asked, Brackish shuddering with every thrust, sweat sticking one of his long curls to his cheek. 

Brackish didn’t answer. His hole throbbed and gripped Milton’s cock impossibly tight as he came between their bodies, a thick, wet load pooling his navel as Milton held himself inside as deep as he could get. Milton came with him, balls pulling tight as they released a wet flood inside him, so much that it overflowed Brackish’s limits, trickling out where they met, then gushing. 

The aftershocks had him clasping the pillow in his fist, slamming in one final time with a wet smack of skin on skin. Brackish felt so good, so soft and supple, the silky squeeze of his ass milking one last spurt from him, leaving Milton weak, his forehead falling against Brackish’s.

“Love you,” Milton panted, breath clouding Brackish’s glasses. He rocked his hips gently, moaning at how soaked Brackish was inside. “So much.”

Sliding out slow, he helped Brackish lower his legs to the bed while he winced with the effort of repositioning strained muscles. He looked wrecked, skin flush and come-soaked, panting hard, hair in disarray across the pillow. Blinking his eyes open, he met Milton’s gaze as a weak, contented smile spread across his lips. 

“Who were you thinking of?” he asked, and for a moment, Milton wasn’t sure what he was talking about. 

With theatrical vigour, Milton swept the magazine off the edge of the bed – surprised it hadn’t already fallen off – and kissed him hard. “It’ll always be you.” 

Their kiss was unhurried and tired, lips barely moving as their tongues lazily slid together. Milton circled Brackish’s nipple with his thumb as their cocks softened, delighting in the way it made him shudder. He always loved these moments afterwards: Brackish fucked out and sleepy, come drying on his skin; Milton getting his breath back.

When Brackish slithered out of bed to go wash up, Milton kept his eyes closed until he returned.

After a quick rinse, Brackish came back to bed in his dressing gown and cuddled up to Milton’s side atop the duvet. They were still too hot from their exertions to consider getting into bed, and Milton was too exhausted to move, anyway.

“How’s that curiosity now?” Milton asked, reaching a hand up behind his head so Brackish could rest his cheek on his bicep and nuzzle into his hair. 

“Sated. Pretty much.”

“Not completely?”

“Maybe it will be, next time.”

Milton smiled into Brackish’s forehead, pressing a gentle kiss to it. He took Brackish’s glasses when he passed them to him – a sign he was about to fall asleep – and placed them on the nightstand. “When do you think that’ll be?” he asked.

Brackish was already dozing.


End file.
